One of my tutoring students here is a woman who works at the School of Social Work at Washington University. She's studying to take the GRE so she can get her Ph.D. In the meantime, she's working on a project that involves various American Indian tribes. She's organizing a benefit for the Houma Indians, who have lost all their land in the hurricane.
I've been so focused on New Orleans, but what happened to the bayou communities south of New Orleans is possibly a bigger tragedy. They've been losing land for many years--it used to be, driving out to Grand Isle, that there was land on either side of the road for many miles, but now the road is like a long bridge, with nothing on either side but water. What was eroding gradually has now just suddenly disappeared. Entire rural parishes are gone and will never really come back. The Houma have lost their land, and they don't know where else they can go.
This is tragic not just ecologically, but because it is probably the end of the very strange and wonderful culture of coastal Louisiana. And maybe the end of Louisiana fisheries as well.
After we talked, I went to a bookstore in the city and bought a book called Bayou Farewell by Mike Tidwell, about the culture and the destruction of coastal Louisiana. It came out a few years ago and I'd been meaning to read it--I heard it was gripping and heartbreaking. I ought to have read it before; I need to read it now. I'm a little annoyed by the way he tries to translate the cajun accent phonetically--I find it distracting to read. Otherwise, though, I wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone trying to understand what's gone wrong in South Louisiana.
Friday, September 30, 2005
Visual aids
This blog has been long on bitchy rants and short on pictures, so I present some cameraphone art from the evacuation:
I left around one a.m. Traffic was moving at that point. The scariest thing I saw was the miles-long row of fire trucks and ambulances parked on one lane of the elevated freeway--they'd put them there so they wouldn't get flooded. The other strange thing was driving on the contraflow--during an evacuation, all lanes on both sides of the interstate go only one direction: out. When you drive on the wrong side of the interstate, the reflectors that shine white when you travel the usual direction now shine red.
Mississippi has nice rest stops, and I had to stop at every one of them because of Hank. They were crowded with people from Louisiana and their pets. But at that point everything seemed a bit like an adventure, and there was almost a party atmosphere at the rest stops--typical of Louisianans. I tried to get a hotel room north of Jackson, but everything was full. So I slept in a rest stop for about four hours. Here's a picture of Hank checking out the scenery in the morning. I'd tied him to a post while I went to the bathroom:
I spent a couple of days with my friend J in Memphis. His roommate inherited a couple of houses in the ghetto of South Memphis, so that's where I stayed. We watched Jerry Springer Uncensored and went to a casino. Things still had the feel of a spur-of-the-moment road trip. They live a few blocks south of McLemore, where the Stax studio has been rebuilt as a museum. It's cool to see the marquee once again, and the museum is pretty cool, too. They have Isaac Hayes' Cadillac, sky blue with gold trim and white plush interior. Too bad I didn't take a picture of that.
Shortly after visiting Stax was when I heard that the levee in New Orleans had been breached, and the vacation-like aspect of the trip abruptly ended.
I don't have a lot of scenic pictures of New Orleans, but I leave you with my new house, my old apartment building, and me on the streetcar:
Oh, and one more--the porch of the house in the country where Miss P stayed after being rescued:
I left around one a.m. Traffic was moving at that point. The scariest thing I saw was the miles-long row of fire trucks and ambulances parked on one lane of the elevated freeway--they'd put them there so they wouldn't get flooded. The other strange thing was driving on the contraflow--during an evacuation, all lanes on both sides of the interstate go only one direction: out. When you drive on the wrong side of the interstate, the reflectors that shine white when you travel the usual direction now shine red.
Mississippi has nice rest stops, and I had to stop at every one of them because of Hank. They were crowded with people from Louisiana and their pets. But at that point everything seemed a bit like an adventure, and there was almost a party atmosphere at the rest stops--typical of Louisianans. I tried to get a hotel room north of Jackson, but everything was full. So I slept in a rest stop for about four hours. Here's a picture of Hank checking out the scenery in the morning. I'd tied him to a post while I went to the bathroom:
I spent a couple of days with my friend J in Memphis. His roommate inherited a couple of houses in the ghetto of South Memphis, so that's where I stayed. We watched Jerry Springer Uncensored and went to a casino. Things still had the feel of a spur-of-the-moment road trip. They live a few blocks south of McLemore, where the Stax studio has been rebuilt as a museum. It's cool to see the marquee once again, and the museum is pretty cool, too. They have Isaac Hayes' Cadillac, sky blue with gold trim and white plush interior. Too bad I didn't take a picture of that.
Shortly after visiting Stax was when I heard that the levee in New Orleans had been breached, and the vacation-like aspect of the trip abruptly ended.
I don't have a lot of scenic pictures of New Orleans, but I leave you with my new house, my old apartment building, and me on the streetcar:
Oh, and one more--the porch of the house in the country where Miss P stayed after being rescued:
Oh my,
Strangers are reading my blog and even leaving nice comments. Thank you.
I heard from my landlady today. It seems that after she rescued Miss P, the ASPCA finally came by and busted down the front door, looking for that cat that was no longer there--and then left the door hanging open. However, she said the stereo was still in the front room, so it seems safe to assume that everything else is still there.
She knows a couple whose house in Gentilly was completely destroyed, and she wants to let them stay in my house until I come back. I'm not completely comfortable with the idea of strangers living in my house with my stuff, but I can't say no in good conscience. I'm so lucky that I still have stuff, and they have nothing--and besides, now they can deal with the refrigerator. The only other problem is that now I can't race back the very second I get free of my obligations here--I have to wait for them to move out. I told her I wanted to move back on December 1, but I'm not sure if my sanity will survive that long. Maybe, when I'm done with my classes in early November, I can do a couch-surfing tour of my friends' towns, just for the sake of getting out of here.
My mother is very worried about my money and is full of unsolicited opinions and anxiety. I regret telling her anything about what I have or don't have. However, it seems I'm getting a little bit more money from FEMA, so essentially the government has bought me a used BMW! (A fine use of your tax dollars, no?) Now there doesn't seem to be too much to worry about. As long as I bring in some income while I'm here and save the bulk of it, I should be fine. I haven't heard about the internship, but I am getting some freelance work from Washington University--I contacted them about temporarily helping out after I saw the ad for what is essentially my old job. So again, I've been fortunate.
I did make one frivolous purchase--I bought an ipod. It seemed the best way to solve the music shortage and avoid subjecting my poor parents to my musical taste.
An observation: When you go to a coffee shop in New Orleans or in or most urban areas, the main activities that people are engaged in are drinking coffee, hanging out and talking, studying, reading the paper, reading books, working on laptops, and sometimes playing chess or cards. Here in the midwestern suburbs, the number one coffeeshop activity after eating and drinking is doing Bible study. No kidding. It's scary.
I heard from my landlady today. It seems that after she rescued Miss P, the ASPCA finally came by and busted down the front door, looking for that cat that was no longer there--and then left the door hanging open. However, she said the stereo was still in the front room, so it seems safe to assume that everything else is still there.
She knows a couple whose house in Gentilly was completely destroyed, and she wants to let them stay in my house until I come back. I'm not completely comfortable with the idea of strangers living in my house with my stuff, but I can't say no in good conscience. I'm so lucky that I still have stuff, and they have nothing--and besides, now they can deal with the refrigerator. The only other problem is that now I can't race back the very second I get free of my obligations here--I have to wait for them to move out. I told her I wanted to move back on December 1, but I'm not sure if my sanity will survive that long. Maybe, when I'm done with my classes in early November, I can do a couch-surfing tour of my friends' towns, just for the sake of getting out of here.
My mother is very worried about my money and is full of unsolicited opinions and anxiety. I regret telling her anything about what I have or don't have. However, it seems I'm getting a little bit more money from FEMA, so essentially the government has bought me a used BMW! (A fine use of your tax dollars, no?) Now there doesn't seem to be too much to worry about. As long as I bring in some income while I'm here and save the bulk of it, I should be fine. I haven't heard about the internship, but I am getting some freelance work from Washington University--I contacted them about temporarily helping out after I saw the ad for what is essentially my old job. So again, I've been fortunate.
I did make one frivolous purchase--I bought an ipod. It seemed the best way to solve the music shortage and avoid subjecting my poor parents to my musical taste.
An observation: When you go to a coffee shop in New Orleans or in or most urban areas, the main activities that people are engaged in are drinking coffee, hanging out and talking, studying, reading the paper, reading books, working on laptops, and sometimes playing chess or cards. Here in the midwestern suburbs, the number one coffeeshop activity after eating and drinking is doing Bible study. No kidding. It's scary.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
A plan
The law school announced today that classes will resume on January 9. We'll have two short 10-week semesters with just a week off in between. It's going to be really hard. But I'm glad to have a date, an official announcement, a plan.
I've been insanely lucky in all this. I think I will be able to move back into my house and have something like my old life back. Of course, New Orleans won't be the same. I expect that it will be shocking and painful to see. But I want to go back. I kind of feel bad for not being there now, as though I've abandoned my beloved.
I don't know now if I will want to stay there past graduation, but for now I want to be there.
I will be able to get financial aid for the second of the two semesters, so I won't be in such bad shape if I buy a car--which is good because I'm buying a ten-year-old BMW on Friday. I can hear the comments now about becoming a lawyer and selling out, but I don't care. It's a great car, much better than I thought I could get, and I'm going to enjoy it.
I might have the chance to go do a paid internship in DC for the rest of the fall, which would be good.
So I've been lucky and I appreciate that, despite my nonstop bitching. But I resent it when people say that's because so many were praying for me and because god has a special plan for me. Out here in the Christ-infected midwest everyone feels free to tell you things like that. It's arrogant to say, and it makes god look like a petty tyrant (as I've noted before). Lots of good Christians lost everything, some of them died. The mental contortions necessary to see god's will in this seem to me a sign of insanity. This tragedy was brought to us by the team of nature and humanity. And it is a tragedy. New Orleans had many serious problems, all of which have been highlighted in this mess, but nevertheless it was a unique treasure. There was no place like it.
I don't think god's intervention had anything to do with my luck, but it does make a difference to me to realize that people really care about me. I'm pretty introverted sometimes--I've spent a lot of time hiding out from people. I haven't always been a particularly good friend. And it's not like I have a huge circle of friends (unlike A, an odd case who is even more of an introvert than me but who has that odd charisma that makes everyone love him even when he's impossible). But there are people--and you know who you are--who I've known for a long time or a not so long time, who I might not see or speak to often, but who stick with me and persist in my life and make an effort to stay in touch and who have really been good to me over the last month. That means more to me than you know.
Friends seem so important now and romance seems trivial nonsense. I have no interest in it. I don't think about sex much, either, although every once in awhile I see someone appealing on the street or in a restaurant and I have a strong flash of desire to just press up against him, nuzzle his neck, make contact flesh-on-flesh contact.
I've been insanely lucky in all this. I think I will be able to move back into my house and have something like my old life back. Of course, New Orleans won't be the same. I expect that it will be shocking and painful to see. But I want to go back. I kind of feel bad for not being there now, as though I've abandoned my beloved.
I don't know now if I will want to stay there past graduation, but for now I want to be there.
I will be able to get financial aid for the second of the two semesters, so I won't be in such bad shape if I buy a car--which is good because I'm buying a ten-year-old BMW on Friday. I can hear the comments now about becoming a lawyer and selling out, but I don't care. It's a great car, much better than I thought I could get, and I'm going to enjoy it.
I might have the chance to go do a paid internship in DC for the rest of the fall, which would be good.
So I've been lucky and I appreciate that, despite my nonstop bitching. But I resent it when people say that's because so many were praying for me and because god has a special plan for me. Out here in the Christ-infected midwest everyone feels free to tell you things like that. It's arrogant to say, and it makes god look like a petty tyrant (as I've noted before). Lots of good Christians lost everything, some of them died. The mental contortions necessary to see god's will in this seem to me a sign of insanity. This tragedy was brought to us by the team of nature and humanity. And it is a tragedy. New Orleans had many serious problems, all of which have been highlighted in this mess, but nevertheless it was a unique treasure. There was no place like it.
I don't think god's intervention had anything to do with my luck, but it does make a difference to me to realize that people really care about me. I'm pretty introverted sometimes--I've spent a lot of time hiding out from people. I haven't always been a particularly good friend. And it's not like I have a huge circle of friends (unlike A, an odd case who is even more of an introvert than me but who has that odd charisma that makes everyone love him even when he's impossible). But there are people--and you know who you are--who I've known for a long time or a not so long time, who I might not see or speak to often, but who stick with me and persist in my life and make an effort to stay in touch and who have really been good to me over the last month. That means more to me than you know.
Friends seem so important now and romance seems trivial nonsense. I have no interest in it. I don't think about sex much, either, although every once in awhile I see someone appealing on the street or in a restaurant and I have a strong flash of desire to just press up against him, nuzzle his neck, make contact flesh-on-flesh contact.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
A temptation
Washington University is advertising a job that's a lot like my old job, except with a somewhat higher salary. I'm tempted to apply. It would be comforting to slip back into a facsimile of my old job and recreate a version of my old life to the degree it's recreatable in St. Louis. I could get a car and an apartment in University City. It would get me out of this suburban hellhole. St. Louis will never be as charming and fun as New Orleans, but it's probably less susceptible to destruction. I could just forget about law school, and in a way that's tempting, too--law school's so hard and so expensive. On bad days I don't feel up to the challenge, not after having my life uprooted like this.
But of course, then I would be rooted in St. Louis, which is not where I want to be. And before too long I would probably start to feel as stagnant in that job as I did in my old one.
I think I'm going to have to buy a car and try to work more to make up the cash. I don't know about getting a car loan--I'm not sure if temporarily semi-employed refugees/full-time students can get car loans--although I understand my credit union is going to be a little bit freer with loan money when it reopens in New Orleans. I'm not sure if I could manage the payments while I'm in school--maybe if they're under $200. I guess I wouldn't have to borrow that much.
There's nothing I want more than to have my life back exactly the way it was a month ago.
But of course, then I would be rooted in St. Louis, which is not where I want to be. And before too long I would probably start to feel as stagnant in that job as I did in my old one.
I think I'm going to have to buy a car and try to work more to make up the cash. I don't know about getting a car loan--I'm not sure if temporarily semi-employed refugees/full-time students can get car loans--although I understand my credit union is going to be a little bit freer with loan money when it reopens in New Orleans. I'm not sure if I could manage the payments while I'm in school--maybe if they're under $200. I guess I wouldn't have to borrow that much.
There's nothing I want more than to have my life back exactly the way it was a month ago.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Bad mood
Someone from NPR left a comment on A's blog wondering how to get in touch. Bastard. And Miss S got a job at the NYT. It's petty to be jealous, but I'm in a mood. A dark, bad mood.
You don't know how hard it was to drive all the way down I-55, past Memphis through Mississippi and across the state line into Louisiana, to see the signs for New Orleans 150 miles, 120 miles, etc., to get that close and then turn around and go back the other way without going in. Everyone else is going in, I feel like a wimp. But it just seemed like a bad idea when everyone was already evacuating ahead of Hurricane Rita. Sometimes it's hard to believe this is really happening.
I got off to a late start. I thought if I got too tired and couldn't make it all the way down, I'd stop somewhere between Memphis and Jackson and get a motel room. But of course, all the motels are still full of Katrina refugees. A month or more in the Motel 6 in Canton, Mississippi--that would be worse than staying with my folks--and let me be clear, they're driving me ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NUTS. With my classes and internship, I'm committed to stay here at least into November, and I honestly don't know if I can make it without snapping.
But I digress. I slept, briefly, at a rest stop, just like I did going the other way during the evacuation. I got up at sunrise and brushed my teeth in the ladies room and got back on the road.
Miss P was staying at the home of an animal rescue volunteer who lives in a tiny town a little bit north of Baton Rouge. I got off the interstate and onto Louisiana 10. It's a pretty country road that goes through farms and small towns. It looks like Louisiana, with the moss-covered oaks and the creole cottages and bayous and battered pickup trucks. The weather was still hot and steamy down there.
Miss P's benefactor's house was a largish creole cottage on the historic register, with a screened-in porch and a big oak tree in the front yard. The owner was a well-maintained single middle-aged woman who lives there alone in sort of shabby chic style. I immediately liked her and loved her house.
Miss P is completely non-flummoxed by the many turns of events of the last few weeks. She's just as bossy and demanding as ever.
I napped a little bit at the house and took a shower, in a brief interlude of peace and contentment. But it couldn't last. I had to get back in order to teach today.
While I was napping, everything fell apart in the outside world. Thick swarms of lovebugs had emerged--I'm not exaggerating when I say it was like a biblical plague. I stopped to get gas, and they were in my shirt and my hair and flying in my eyes. On the road, it was like driving through a black snowstorm. There were so many bug guts on the windshielf, I had to stop every hour to try to clean it off.
And by then the Rita evacuation was underway. I-55 was moving and gas was available, but there was a lot of traffic--caravans of humvees coming out of New Orleans, Texans in RVs, utility trucks, lots of idiots parked in the passing lane doing 40 miles per hour.
This morning I went to tutor a student at Washington University, which has a pretty campus. If I were staying in the city, maybe I wouldn't be so depressed, and I feel like a bad person for complaining when I've been so lucky and my parents have been good to me--but I hate it here. I just fucking hate it here and I want to go home.
I was looking at cars and feeling bummed out about what is available for the cash I have on hand. Then I got a notice that I'm not supposed to be spending the financial aid I got this semester because I won't get more next semester, and thus I don't think I can afford to buy a car at all. Which is okay because I don't really want to buy a car and spend all that money on gas and repairs and insurance. Plus, even though I love driving a good car, I think that fossil-fuel burning cars are at the root a lot of what's going wrong around here and I would just rather opt out.
And in a way I don't need one. My folks have been good about sharing theirs. But that's contributing to my depression--you can't go anywhere here without a car, so I can't go anywhere without asking permission. Back in New Orleans, in my old life, I didn't need a car. But I can't forget that helpless feeling of calling everyone I know trying to find a way out during the evacuation, and having to depend on other people and their schedules and whims. I want a car so I won't be so helpless. And also I don't know if there will be open shops and restaurants in the neighborhood when I go back. Maybe I'll have to drive to Metairie to get groceries.
So I go around and around with this. The way to get a car would be to get a full time job so that I could replace the funds I used to by it. And then I'd need a car so I could go to my full-time job. But I feel like I'm at my limit right now of what I can handle. The internship is a good thing, and I can do a lot of my work at home. I can't quit that, and I don't want to. The teaching pays a good hourly rate, but the hours are limited, but that's okay because they're pretty stressful hours.
I kind of wish I hadn't come here, but where else could I really go and expect to stay for months with my animals and borrow a car and so forth? I feel trapped, but no matter where I went I wouldn't be in New Orleans and I'd be depressed. Going back there seems depressing and not going back seems depressing. There's really nowhere else I want to be, not in this country. I hate what is happening in this country. I hate the strip malls and the SUVs and the office parks and the fucking evangelical Christians and their megachurches. I hate the Midwest with a furious passion.
I miss New Orleans. I miss everyone I knew there. I miss my bicycle. I miss the used bookstore on Decatur. I miss the Rue de la Course. I miss my bathtub. I want a shrimp poboy. I want to go the Circle Bar. I want to listen to WWOZ and WTUL. I want to ride the streetcar. I want to go get pho at a Vietnamese restaurant. I want to go see Ryan Scully. I want to do whatever the hell I want and not have to tell anyone what I'm doing or be subjected to their worry and their fussing and their opinions about what I should or should not be doing. I want to make my own dinner the way I want to make it. I want to go back to complaining about not getting laid. I want to sleep in my own bed in my own house. I want a fish taco. I want one of those long steamy New Orleans nights of staying out till sunrise. I just fucking want to go home.
You don't know how hard it was to drive all the way down I-55, past Memphis through Mississippi and across the state line into Louisiana, to see the signs for New Orleans 150 miles, 120 miles, etc., to get that close and then turn around and go back the other way without going in. Everyone else is going in, I feel like a wimp. But it just seemed like a bad idea when everyone was already evacuating ahead of Hurricane Rita. Sometimes it's hard to believe this is really happening.
I got off to a late start. I thought if I got too tired and couldn't make it all the way down, I'd stop somewhere between Memphis and Jackson and get a motel room. But of course, all the motels are still full of Katrina refugees. A month or more in the Motel 6 in Canton, Mississippi--that would be worse than staying with my folks--and let me be clear, they're driving me ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NUTS. With my classes and internship, I'm committed to stay here at least into November, and I honestly don't know if I can make it without snapping.
But I digress. I slept, briefly, at a rest stop, just like I did going the other way during the evacuation. I got up at sunrise and brushed my teeth in the ladies room and got back on the road.
Miss P was staying at the home of an animal rescue volunteer who lives in a tiny town a little bit north of Baton Rouge. I got off the interstate and onto Louisiana 10. It's a pretty country road that goes through farms and small towns. It looks like Louisiana, with the moss-covered oaks and the creole cottages and bayous and battered pickup trucks. The weather was still hot and steamy down there.
Miss P's benefactor's house was a largish creole cottage on the historic register, with a screened-in porch and a big oak tree in the front yard. The owner was a well-maintained single middle-aged woman who lives there alone in sort of shabby chic style. I immediately liked her and loved her house.
Miss P is completely non-flummoxed by the many turns of events of the last few weeks. She's just as bossy and demanding as ever.
I napped a little bit at the house and took a shower, in a brief interlude of peace and contentment. But it couldn't last. I had to get back in order to teach today.
While I was napping, everything fell apart in the outside world. Thick swarms of lovebugs had emerged--I'm not exaggerating when I say it was like a biblical plague. I stopped to get gas, and they were in my shirt and my hair and flying in my eyes. On the road, it was like driving through a black snowstorm. There were so many bug guts on the windshielf, I had to stop every hour to try to clean it off.
And by then the Rita evacuation was underway. I-55 was moving and gas was available, but there was a lot of traffic--caravans of humvees coming out of New Orleans, Texans in RVs, utility trucks, lots of idiots parked in the passing lane doing 40 miles per hour.
This morning I went to tutor a student at Washington University, which has a pretty campus. If I were staying in the city, maybe I wouldn't be so depressed, and I feel like a bad person for complaining when I've been so lucky and my parents have been good to me--but I hate it here. I just fucking hate it here and I want to go home.
I was looking at cars and feeling bummed out about what is available for the cash I have on hand. Then I got a notice that I'm not supposed to be spending the financial aid I got this semester because I won't get more next semester, and thus I don't think I can afford to buy a car at all. Which is okay because I don't really want to buy a car and spend all that money on gas and repairs and insurance. Plus, even though I love driving a good car, I think that fossil-fuel burning cars are at the root a lot of what's going wrong around here and I would just rather opt out.
And in a way I don't need one. My folks have been good about sharing theirs. But that's contributing to my depression--you can't go anywhere here without a car, so I can't go anywhere without asking permission. Back in New Orleans, in my old life, I didn't need a car. But I can't forget that helpless feeling of calling everyone I know trying to find a way out during the evacuation, and having to depend on other people and their schedules and whims. I want a car so I won't be so helpless. And also I don't know if there will be open shops and restaurants in the neighborhood when I go back. Maybe I'll have to drive to Metairie to get groceries.
So I go around and around with this. The way to get a car would be to get a full time job so that I could replace the funds I used to by it. And then I'd need a car so I could go to my full-time job. But I feel like I'm at my limit right now of what I can handle. The internship is a good thing, and I can do a lot of my work at home. I can't quit that, and I don't want to. The teaching pays a good hourly rate, but the hours are limited, but that's okay because they're pretty stressful hours.
I kind of wish I hadn't come here, but where else could I really go and expect to stay for months with my animals and borrow a car and so forth? I feel trapped, but no matter where I went I wouldn't be in New Orleans and I'd be depressed. Going back there seems depressing and not going back seems depressing. There's really nowhere else I want to be, not in this country. I hate what is happening in this country. I hate the strip malls and the SUVs and the office parks and the fucking evangelical Christians and their megachurches. I hate the Midwest with a furious passion.
I miss New Orleans. I miss everyone I knew there. I miss my bicycle. I miss the used bookstore on Decatur. I miss the Rue de la Course. I miss my bathtub. I want a shrimp poboy. I want to go the Circle Bar. I want to listen to WWOZ and WTUL. I want to ride the streetcar. I want to go get pho at a Vietnamese restaurant. I want to go see Ryan Scully. I want to do whatever the hell I want and not have to tell anyone what I'm doing or be subjected to their worry and their fussing and their opinions about what I should or should not be doing. I want to make my own dinner the way I want to make it. I want to go back to complaining about not getting laid. I want to sleep in my own bed in my own house. I want a fish taco. I want one of those long steamy New Orleans nights of staying out till sunrise. I just fucking want to go home.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
refrigerators
I've heard from people who have gone back to look at their uptown houses. If they make the mistake of opening their refrigerators, they find them crawling with maggots. One girl cleaned hers out, but she vomited a couple of times before finishing. Others don't have the stomach for it, they're just sealing the refrigerator up and dragging it out to the curb. So add that to the waste and the mess--thousands of maggoty refrigerators.
I'm planning to go to Baton Rouge today to get Miss P out of hock. I'd thought about continuing on to New Orleans to check things out and maybe get a few things out of my house. But I'm not sure if I'm ready for that, and in any case the city is under yet another evacuation order because of the new hurricane. I don't know if I could take it if the city flooded again before the last one has been pumped out.
I'm planning to go to Baton Rouge today to get Miss P out of hock. I'd thought about continuing on to New Orleans to check things out and maybe get a few things out of my house. But I'm not sure if I'm ready for that, and in any case the city is under yet another evacuation order because of the new hurricane. I don't know if I could take it if the city flooded again before the last one has been pumped out.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Gretna
My attention to the news has been sporadic, so I've only just learned that it was the Gretna police, not the National Guard, who blocked off the bridge during the evacuation fiasco. It was an unforgivably stupid and heartless act. If they didn't want New Orleans' riffraff in their dinky little town, they could have sealed off the relevant exits of the Westbank Expressway. Instead, they totally cut off the main artery out of downtown. So not only could no one get to Gretna, they couldn't get to Algiers or Westwego or on a bus to Houston. Unbelievable.
On a happier note, Alex Chilton has checked in. I mean, not to me--to the Easley's in Memphis.
On a happier note, Alex Chilton has checked in. I mean, not to me--to the Easley's in Memphis.
Monday, September 19, 2005
I wanna go home
Nagin invited people to come back into the city, or at least into Algiers, then promptly told them to leave again due to federal backlash and a new hurricane.
I can't stand to hear or read the ignorant, stupid and hateful opinions of other people. I will concede that, looking at things in the coldest and most objective way, rebuilding New Orleans may not be a sensible thing to do, at least not if we don't also invest in a total re-engineering of the Louisiana coast and a rethinking of the levee system, and if we don't admit the role the oil and gas industry played in this fiasco (ironically one of the main parties who wants to see the city rebuilt) and quit letting them tear up the wetlands.
On CNN tonight: The Hot 8 leading a second line in Baton Rouge.
The balance of power is going to shift in Louisiana, I think, and Baton Rouge will permanently become the bigger city. But Baton Rouge is now and will forever be a shithole, and one without a drop of New Orleans's redeeming charm.
My parents get all kinds of mail from right-wing causes and think-tanks askiing for money. Whenever possible, I intercept it and destroy it. Is that unethical?
I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.
I can't stand to hear or read the ignorant, stupid and hateful opinions of other people. I will concede that, looking at things in the coldest and most objective way, rebuilding New Orleans may not be a sensible thing to do, at least not if we don't also invest in a total re-engineering of the Louisiana coast and a rethinking of the levee system, and if we don't admit the role the oil and gas industry played in this fiasco (ironically one of the main parties who wants to see the city rebuilt) and quit letting them tear up the wetlands.
On CNN tonight: The Hot 8 leading a second line in Baton Rouge.
The balance of power is going to shift in Louisiana, I think, and Baton Rouge will permanently become the bigger city. But Baton Rouge is now and will forever be a shithole, and one without a drop of New Orleans's redeeming charm.
My parents get all kinds of mail from right-wing causes and think-tanks askiing for money. Whenever possible, I intercept it and destroy it. Is that unethical?
I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.I want to go home.
Friday, September 16, 2005
God bless New Orleans
On the news--people drinking in a bar in the French Quarter that has stayed open more or less the whole time. I didn't recognize it in the brief shot they showed on television. But god bless New Orleans, keeping the drinks coming at all costs. Also, the Times-Picayune reassures us that there's going to be a Mardi Gras next year.
My neighborhood is re-opening a week from today. But now I have commitments here until the beginning of November, and nothing much to do there but maybe guard my stuff. I'd like to go back, but staying here will be more bearable knowing there's a definite end in sight.
I'm feeling much more committed to doing environmental law in the wake of all this mess, although I've had a wakeup call about whether I could afford to work for a non-profit firm.
I heard that all the toxins in the water that's being pumped into the lake will drain into the Gulf and ruin Louisiana's fisheries for 25 years. All those oystermen and shrimpers were already having a hard time; now it's pretty much over for them. Their livelihood is gone, and some of the crucial ingredients in New Orleans cooking. I never really understood the big deal about shrimp until I lived in New Orleans.
I haven't been able to contact any of my former co-workers, but their bylines have started to pop up on Tulane's website. They must all be in Houston where the school's administration has temporarily set up operations.
I find myself getting annoyed with my parents and snipping at them. They do know how to try a girl's patience. But I must remind myself that they are letting me stay here rent-free, loaning me their cars, and putting up with my dog and soon my cat. I ought to do a better job of showing appreciation or at least not being a total bitch.
My neighborhood is re-opening a week from today. But now I have commitments here until the beginning of November, and nothing much to do there but maybe guard my stuff. I'd like to go back, but staying here will be more bearable knowing there's a definite end in sight.
I'm feeling much more committed to doing environmental law in the wake of all this mess, although I've had a wakeup call about whether I could afford to work for a non-profit firm.
I heard that all the toxins in the water that's being pumped into the lake will drain into the Gulf and ruin Louisiana's fisheries for 25 years. All those oystermen and shrimpers were already having a hard time; now it's pretty much over for them. Their livelihood is gone, and some of the crucial ingredients in New Orleans cooking. I never really understood the big deal about shrimp until I lived in New Orleans.
I haven't been able to contact any of my former co-workers, but their bylines have started to pop up on Tulane's website. They must all be in Houston where the school's administration has temporarily set up operations.
I find myself getting annoyed with my parents and snipping at them. They do know how to try a girl's patience. But I must remind myself that they are letting me stay here rent-free, loaning me their cars, and putting up with my dog and soon my cat. I ought to do a better job of showing appreciation or at least not being a total bitch.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Good news
I just heard from my landlady, who got back into New Orleans today. She rescued Miss P, who is fine!
She said the house had minimal damage, though the tree in the backyard fell and smashed someone else's roof. It was still locked up and nothing was missing. So at the very least I should be able to salvage my kitchen stuff and CDs. There might be a problem with mold in the linens and clothes. It's possible that I will be able to move back into the house in December, though it will have to be thoroughly inspected before I will know for sure.
But at least I know something, and the news is mostly good, which is better than wondering and worrying.
Still, I'm in shock when I hear people on the news debating about whether New Orleans should be rebuilt, when I was living my life there just three weeks ago.
And the news is still upsetting--I was flipping through the issue of People magazine with the hurricane on the cover--there was an interview with Charmaine Neville, who described people getting pulled under water by alligators, and her own experience of being raped at knifepoint in a shelter. And on NPR, people describing trying to walk over the bridge to the dry land of the Westbank, and having National Guardsmen send them back at gun point. What a cluster fuck. Most of Lakeview and Gentilly and Mid City and the Ninth Ward will have to be razed. Just huge tracts of the city. I take some comfort that many of the neighborhoods I was most attached to have survived. Well, the architecture has survived. Whether the people and the businesses will return is another matter. Part of the Bywater, the Marigny, the Quarter, the Lower Garden District and the Irish Channel and the Riverbend are at least physically intact.
In the day, I'm busy and even sort of optimistic. I'm being forced to start all over, which is an opportunity, in a way. I'm trying to make a good start.
At night, though, I have bad dreams or I lie awake and mourn.
I take A's sarcastic point about how all the heroics he's heard about have been directed at saving pets; and thus how all the middle class people in New Orleans should have adopted a poor black person instead of a pet.
But I'm very happy to know that Miss P is okay and that I will be able to get her back. Hank will be glad to see his cat friend, too.
She said the house had minimal damage, though the tree in the backyard fell and smashed someone else's roof. It was still locked up and nothing was missing. So at the very least I should be able to salvage my kitchen stuff and CDs. There might be a problem with mold in the linens and clothes. It's possible that I will be able to move back into the house in December, though it will have to be thoroughly inspected before I will know for sure.
But at least I know something, and the news is mostly good, which is better than wondering and worrying.
Still, I'm in shock when I hear people on the news debating about whether New Orleans should be rebuilt, when I was living my life there just three weeks ago.
And the news is still upsetting--I was flipping through the issue of People magazine with the hurricane on the cover--there was an interview with Charmaine Neville, who described people getting pulled under water by alligators, and her own experience of being raped at knifepoint in a shelter. And on NPR, people describing trying to walk over the bridge to the dry land of the Westbank, and having National Guardsmen send them back at gun point. What a cluster fuck. Most of Lakeview and Gentilly and Mid City and the Ninth Ward will have to be razed. Just huge tracts of the city. I take some comfort that many of the neighborhoods I was most attached to have survived. Well, the architecture has survived. Whether the people and the businesses will return is another matter. Part of the Bywater, the Marigny, the Quarter, the Lower Garden District and the Irish Channel and the Riverbend are at least physically intact.
In the day, I'm busy and even sort of optimistic. I'm being forced to start all over, which is an opportunity, in a way. I'm trying to make a good start.
At night, though, I have bad dreams or I lie awake and mourn.
I take A's sarcastic point about how all the heroics he's heard about have been directed at saving pets; and thus how all the middle class people in New Orleans should have adopted a poor black person instead of a pet.
But I'm very happy to know that Miss P is okay and that I will be able to get her back. Hank will be glad to see his cat friend, too.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Something creepy
On New Orleans' craigslist, there are all kinds of personal ads from guys around the country offering female Katrina refugees a place to stay and even "immediate marriage" in exchange for, basically, sex. Of course, the woman has to be pretty. Their hearts are apparently closed to ugly refugees. It's just stunningly pathetic.
My life as a refugee
I've been a refugee for two weeks. I want to go home, and it's a little shock every time I re-realize I don't have a home to go home to.
My psyche is split in two--part of me gets up every morning and functions. I'm coping at a fairly high level. But the other part of me is deeply, cripplingly depressed.
I have some residual affection for St. Louis proper. It's where I was first exposed to the urban boho life. When my high school classmates were sneaking out to parties, I was sneaking out to drive into the city to see art movies at the Tivoli and Varsity Theatres and shop at Vintage Vinyl (which is now in the former site of the Varisty.) Once I hooked up with my first real boyfriend, I spent even more time in the city. There are certainly places within the 170 loop where you could make a pleasant life for yourself. This a.m. I had to stop by the Princeton Review office, and after I had coffee on Delmar Avenue, where people were sitting out on the sidewalk and there were even some bicycle commuters--and unlike in New Orleans, they didn't feel the need to put their bikes in triple lockdown when they parked them on the sidewalk.
Also I have to give props to Lion's Choice roast beef sandwiches and 24-hour Steak n Shakes.
But in general this place is way too Jesus-infested. (I thought the south was supposed to be the Bible belt, but Midwest seems much more overtly evangelical--and also much more frankly racist. Not that the two are related...) There are two many highways, traffic jams, strip malls, and billboards.
On Friday night I drove 25 miles and sat in two traffic jams in order to see the Knitters (X re-imagined as a hillbilly band, with Dave Alvin on guitar) at a club downtown. They played in New Orleans in the week before the flood, but I couldn't go see them because I was way too overwhelmed by my law school workload.
They were good. Dave Alvin sure plays a Fender like it oughta be played. But jeez, they're old. Exene is stout and looks like a grandma--the world's rockin'ist granny, but still. And the show was over by 11:30--in New Orleans you wouldn't even leave the house that early.
I realize what a charmed life I led. New Orleans was always a disaster in progress, but it was like a disaster sparkled with pixie dust, at least for some of us. I don't want to minimize how much it was a shithole for many of the poor people who lived there.
Still..
The need to buy a car is bothersome. There's a lot of deep irony in that so many people in New Orleans didn't have cars, largely because they couldn't afford one, but also because it was fairly easy to get along without one. Yet the oil and gas industry, and our whole petroleum-dependent American lifestyle, was an accomplice in the destruction of the city. Now I need to get a car so that I can function here. And honestly, I wouldn't live in New Orleans again without one. I don't ever want to be dependent on other people for a way out when a hurricane is on the way.
I think I'll be going back to finish school. Beyond that, I don't know. I understand the argument for not rebuilding, and I don't think it will ever be even close to what it used to be.
But there's just nowhere else I can think of that I would like to live. Not in America, anyway.
Someone sent me a copy of a Ramone's compilation and I've been listening to it when I'm riding around in my dad's big truck. Miss S would laugh if she could see me rocking out to "Teenage Lobotomy." Since I was never a punk-rock person, it's all pretty fresh to me. In the liner notes, Johnny Ramone says he wanted to make pure white rock without any blues influence. In a way, he's full of shit--there's no such thing as rock without blues influence. But I know what he means. It is white people music--that's probably why I was never into it before. But it seems like the right music for coping with this landscape. Plus, having had my heart stomped by the black, black city of New Orleans, I kind of feel like embracing my honkiness.
My psyche is split in two--part of me gets up every morning and functions. I'm coping at a fairly high level. But the other part of me is deeply, cripplingly depressed.
I have some residual affection for St. Louis proper. It's where I was first exposed to the urban boho life. When my high school classmates were sneaking out to parties, I was sneaking out to drive into the city to see art movies at the Tivoli and Varsity Theatres and shop at Vintage Vinyl (which is now in the former site of the Varisty.) Once I hooked up with my first real boyfriend, I spent even more time in the city. There are certainly places within the 170 loop where you could make a pleasant life for yourself. This a.m. I had to stop by the Princeton Review office, and after I had coffee on Delmar Avenue, where people were sitting out on the sidewalk and there were even some bicycle commuters--and unlike in New Orleans, they didn't feel the need to put their bikes in triple lockdown when they parked them on the sidewalk.
Also I have to give props to Lion's Choice roast beef sandwiches and 24-hour Steak n Shakes.
But in general this place is way too Jesus-infested. (I thought the south was supposed to be the Bible belt, but Midwest seems much more overtly evangelical--and also much more frankly racist. Not that the two are related...) There are two many highways, traffic jams, strip malls, and billboards.
On Friday night I drove 25 miles and sat in two traffic jams in order to see the Knitters (X re-imagined as a hillbilly band, with Dave Alvin on guitar) at a club downtown. They played in New Orleans in the week before the flood, but I couldn't go see them because I was way too overwhelmed by my law school workload.
They were good. Dave Alvin sure plays a Fender like it oughta be played. But jeez, they're old. Exene is stout and looks like a grandma--the world's rockin'ist granny, but still. And the show was over by 11:30--in New Orleans you wouldn't even leave the house that early.
I realize what a charmed life I led. New Orleans was always a disaster in progress, but it was like a disaster sparkled with pixie dust, at least for some of us. I don't want to minimize how much it was a shithole for many of the poor people who lived there.
Still..
The need to buy a car is bothersome. There's a lot of deep irony in that so many people in New Orleans didn't have cars, largely because they couldn't afford one, but also because it was fairly easy to get along without one. Yet the oil and gas industry, and our whole petroleum-dependent American lifestyle, was an accomplice in the destruction of the city. Now I need to get a car so that I can function here. And honestly, I wouldn't live in New Orleans again without one. I don't ever want to be dependent on other people for a way out when a hurricane is on the way.
I think I'll be going back to finish school. Beyond that, I don't know. I understand the argument for not rebuilding, and I don't think it will ever be even close to what it used to be.
But there's just nowhere else I can think of that I would like to live. Not in America, anyway.
Someone sent me a copy of a Ramone's compilation and I've been listening to it when I'm riding around in my dad's big truck. Miss S would laugh if she could see me rocking out to "Teenage Lobotomy." Since I was never a punk-rock person, it's all pretty fresh to me. In the liner notes, Johnny Ramone says he wanted to make pure white rock without any blues influence. In a way, he's full of shit--there's no such thing as rock without blues influence. But I know what he means. It is white people music--that's probably why I was never into it before. But it seems like the right music for coping with this landscape. Plus, having had my heart stomped by the black, black city of New Orleans, I kind of feel like embracing my honkiness.
Friday, September 09, 2005
A rare example of FEMA efficiency
Several people mentioned to me that FEMA was giving out $2000 debit cards to Katrina refugees. I was under the impression that you had to go by a shelter or office to get the cards, and got online this morning to figure out where I needed to go. But according to the website, the funds would be direct deposited or automatically sent to you if you'd already registered. I started to check my registration, and to my distress they seemed to have lost it--but as I restarted the application process, I also called to check my bank balance and found that the money had been deposited into my account last night. It was a very pleasant surprise.
So if you haven't registered yet, you should register. I will probably use the money as a deposit on a car or the full price of a cheap car.
I have a lot I want to write here and many people I want to write or talk to individually, but suddenly I find myself almost as busy I was during my now-mythical week of law school.
I'll mention that Tulane seems committed to restarting in January in New Orleans, which I have violently mixed feelings about, especially after hearing an EPA scientist on the radio talking about how it won't be safe to live there for a decade. Of course, the campus and much of the nearby area stayed dry. Perhaps we'll be a little island of civilization among the ruins.
So if you haven't registered yet, you should register. I will probably use the money as a deposit on a car or the full price of a cheap car.
I have a lot I want to write here and many people I want to write or talk to individually, but suddenly I find myself almost as busy I was during my now-mythical week of law school.
I'll mention that Tulane seems committed to restarting in January in New Orleans, which I have violently mixed feelings about, especially after hearing an EPA scientist on the radio talking about how it won't be safe to live there for a decade. Of course, the campus and much of the nearby area stayed dry. Perhaps we'll be a little island of civilization among the ruins.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Homesick
Okay, this has been a really interesting adventure, but can I go home now? I miss everything about New Orleans.
On my list of things I'm missing was AD's chronic ennui. But now he's restarted his blog. The boy can't spell worth a damn, but he's got an interesting mind that comes out in the words, and he's less removed from the destruction, being only 3 hours away. Worth reading: rantautology.blogspot.com
Also, I'm excited to see Miss N start a blog. She has a fine rant about the political fiasco that was the so-called rescue effort: sugarfreezone.blogspot.com
More later.
On my list of things I'm missing was AD's chronic ennui. But now he's restarted his blog. The boy can't spell worth a damn, but he's got an interesting mind that comes out in the words, and he's less removed from the destruction, being only 3 hours away. Worth reading: rantautology.blogspot.com
Also, I'm excited to see Miss N start a blog. She has a fine rant about the political fiasco that was the so-called rescue effort: sugarfreezone.blogspot.com
More later.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
So long, old Hyundai
I confess I was disappointed when Miss K decided she wanted her car back. My dad flew her up here last night. She spent the night with us and just left to go back to Baton Rouge. She really had an ordeal. She was rescued from the American Can building by boat and then was airlifted out of the city. Now she's determined to go back to rescue her cat.
I recognize that I am colder and more self-centered than big-hearted people like her. I am worried about Miss P and feel bad about leaving her behind, but rescuing her is not my main priority. Anyway, since Miss K is such an animal lover, she's trying to get Miss P out, too. Actually, she might have been rescued yesterday and sent to a shelter in Baton Rouge. If she turns up I'd drive down to get her.
But now I am carless. Actually, in my parents' household we now have two vehicles for three drivers--only in America would that not be enough. But absolutely nothing is within walking or even biking distance here, and if you tried to ride a bike you'd get flattened. And I hate having to ask to use the car--I feel like I've regressed 20 years, and I feel trapped.
Today I'm driving my dad's monster truck. It's really too big. I hope I don't have to drive it when I go downtown to crunchy green environmental law firm.
I registered with FEMA to see if I can eventually get some financial help. I'm sure I'm not at the top of the list, but that's okay.
I'm writing a story for the Phoenix papers in New England, I'm researching ATV use in Missouri parks for the law firm, and I'm going to be teaching an ACT class for the Princeton Review. So at least I have something to do besides freak out, and a little bit of money coming my way.
But I'm starting to think about all the peoople I know who I didn't consult on my way out of town and don't know how to contact now--Miss L and all the people I used to work with and all my old beaux.
I recognize that I am colder and more self-centered than big-hearted people like her. I am worried about Miss P and feel bad about leaving her behind, but rescuing her is not my main priority. Anyway, since Miss K is such an animal lover, she's trying to get Miss P out, too. Actually, she might have been rescued yesterday and sent to a shelter in Baton Rouge. If she turns up I'd drive down to get her.
But now I am carless. Actually, in my parents' household we now have two vehicles for three drivers--only in America would that not be enough. But absolutely nothing is within walking or even biking distance here, and if you tried to ride a bike you'd get flattened. And I hate having to ask to use the car--I feel like I've regressed 20 years, and I feel trapped.
Today I'm driving my dad's monster truck. It's really too big. I hope I don't have to drive it when I go downtown to crunchy green environmental law firm.
I registered with FEMA to see if I can eventually get some financial help. I'm sure I'm not at the top of the list, but that's okay.
I'm writing a story for the Phoenix papers in New England, I'm researching ATV use in Missouri parks for the law firm, and I'm going to be teaching an ACT class for the Princeton Review. So at least I have something to do besides freak out, and a little bit of money coming my way.
But I'm starting to think about all the peoople I know who I didn't consult on my way out of town and don't know how to contact now--Miss L and all the people I used to work with and all my old beaux.
Monday, September 05, 2005
Some good news
Miss K, my landlady and car donor, called last night. She's safe in Houston, although they didn't get rescued until Saturday. She said Jonathan is also safe. She didn't know him before, but they got to be friends during their ordeal.
There are a couple of organizations that are now trying to rescue stranded pets. It's hard to get through, but I'll keep trying. Maybe there's some hope that Miss P will survive.
I have an unpaid internship lined up at the environmental law firm I mentioned. RW is helping me hook up with a chain alternative weeklies in New England. I'm hoping to write for them about New Orleans. I'm also contemplating trying to get a book deal. Those of you who have agents--be prepared to hear from me. I'm also going to call the Princeton Review tomorrow about teaching during LSAT season.
Miss K might trade me her car in exchange for the money that she owes me as a refund for my security deposit and September rent. The car is a 9-year-old Hyundai with 100K miles, but it runs well, got me up here with no problems, has a manual transmission and gets great gas mileage. And I'm not in any shape to go car shopping right now.
So, things are working out for me personally.
My dad might go volunteer to work on the cleanup for a few weeks, which I admire.
My parents are both very kind, good, generous people. I have to say that because I've been cranky about staying with them, and I don't want to come off as a complete ingrate. I'm grateful to them for taking me in. It was a great comfort to arrive here. It's just that a long stay here will not be good for my happiness and mental health.
I'm really grateful and touched, but also a bit embarrassed, by all the people who have offered to help me out. I think you should give money to the Red Cross before you give money to me. Also, you could make my life much better just by burning copies of a couple of your favorite CDs for me. But it's true that I need to replace a lot of clothes and eventually household items. If you've got money burning a hole in your pocket that you'd otherwise be spending on dangerous recreational drugs, I'd be extremely appreciative of gift certificates from L.L. Bean or Land's End to get a winter coat and sweaters and boots, or from any chain store that has stuff I could use. They've got them all here in Suburbia World. But again, I'm not in tremendous need: the Red Cross needs it more than I do.
I haven't been doing a very good job of communicating with people individually, because I'm overwhelmed by all I have to do. But I want you to know that your email and encouragement means a lot. Thank you all so much.
There are a couple of organizations that are now trying to rescue stranded pets. It's hard to get through, but I'll keep trying. Maybe there's some hope that Miss P will survive.
I have an unpaid internship lined up at the environmental law firm I mentioned. RW is helping me hook up with a chain alternative weeklies in New England. I'm hoping to write for them about New Orleans. I'm also contemplating trying to get a book deal. Those of you who have agents--be prepared to hear from me. I'm also going to call the Princeton Review tomorrow about teaching during LSAT season.
Miss K might trade me her car in exchange for the money that she owes me as a refund for my security deposit and September rent. The car is a 9-year-old Hyundai with 100K miles, but it runs well, got me up here with no problems, has a manual transmission and gets great gas mileage. And I'm not in any shape to go car shopping right now.
So, things are working out for me personally.
My dad might go volunteer to work on the cleanup for a few weeks, which I admire.
My parents are both very kind, good, generous people. I have to say that because I've been cranky about staying with them, and I don't want to come off as a complete ingrate. I'm grateful to them for taking me in. It was a great comfort to arrive here. It's just that a long stay here will not be good for my happiness and mental health.
I'm really grateful and touched, but also a bit embarrassed, by all the people who have offered to help me out. I think you should give money to the Red Cross before you give money to me. Also, you could make my life much better just by burning copies of a couple of your favorite CDs for me. But it's true that I need to replace a lot of clothes and eventually household items. If you've got money burning a hole in your pocket that you'd otherwise be spending on dangerous recreational drugs, I'd be extremely appreciative of gift certificates from L.L. Bean or Land's End to get a winter coat and sweaters and boots, or from any chain store that has stuff I could use. They've got them all here in Suburbia World. But again, I'm not in tremendous need: the Red Cross needs it more than I do.
I haven't been doing a very good job of communicating with people individually, because I'm overwhelmed by all I have to do. But I want you to know that your email and encouragement means a lot. Thank you all so much.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Crying in the grocery store
Yesterday I was in the grocery store, buying spinach and some things I wanted that my mother would never buy. Have my parents always eaten so badly? I hadn't had a green vegetable or any remotely fresh plant product since I ate an apple on the trip up.
Anyway, that stupid Arlo Guthrie (I think?) song, "The City of New Orleans," came on the sound system and I was immediately a weeping wreck. It made me think of the first time I came to New Orleans, on the train from Memphis with my (now ex-) husband. I loved it immediately. I couldn't believe how beautiful it was. I remember walking in the lower garden district and a lady on the street smiled at me and said, "Welcome home, sweetie."
I'm not the only one losing it over little things. Miss S said she asked her grandfather if he had any mustard and he handed her a squeeze bottle of yellow mustard and she started to cry. Everyone in New Orleans knows that isn't mustard.
Miss K, my landlady and car donor, is still MIA.
Anyway, that stupid Arlo Guthrie (I think?) song, "The City of New Orleans," came on the sound system and I was immediately a weeping wreck. It made me think of the first time I came to New Orleans, on the train from Memphis with my (now ex-) husband. I loved it immediately. I couldn't believe how beautiful it was. I remember walking in the lower garden district and a lady on the street smiled at me and said, "Welcome home, sweetie."
I'm not the only one losing it over little things. Miss S said she asked her grandfather if he had any mustard and he handed her a squeeze bottle of yellow mustard and she started to cry. Everyone in New Orleans knows that isn't mustard.
Miss K, my landlady and car donor, is still MIA.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
My plan
Tulane cancelled the semester, which is no suprise. After some confusion, first year law students were released to enroll as visiting students at other schools--the upper years had been permitted to do so earlier in the week. But I decided I wasn't in any shape to show up at a new school in an unknown town, my whole life in a shambles, and expect to do well in my first semester of law school.
Staying with my parents seems like the most sensible option, though it may severely test my sanity. It's not just the way your mom and dad can drive you nuts in ways that no one else could if they tried. It's also the horribleness of this place, St. Charles County, MO, quintessential ugly suburban sprawl. It's the total spiritual opposite of New Orleans.
It's depressing. I cry a little bit everyday for New Orleans and for the life I had there. The prudent thing would be to just start school over next year, but I don't think I could take a year here. I'm not sure where else I could stay for that long. The only other long-term option that I can see is to stay with my sister and other relatives in York, Pennsylvania, which in a lot of ways is a more attractive alternative. It just seems like it would be harder to find something to do there, but maybe I'm mistaken.
However, on the internet I've found a small environmental law firm in St. Louis that does the kind of work I might want to do when I get out. I'm going to try to get an internship there or somewhere similar. If not, or additionally, I'll see about volunteering with the Red Cross or some other agency that's involved with rescuing and salvaging New Orleans. I'm going to call the Princeton Review office here in St. Louis and see if I can teach some LSAT classes.
If I've got something to do, this should be more bearable. If I can't get anything to go here, I'll think about migrating to PA.
I'm not in any immediate need for money, although I will be. I have the financial aid money that was supposed to last me till the end of the year. Eventually I should be able to get some compensation from FEMA for the contents of my house, I think. But if I'm not back in school in January, I'll need to be in a full-time paying job.
I'm going to need to buy a car soon. (I still haven't been able to contact my landlady and for now I'm still driving her car.) And since all I brought was jeans and t-shirts, I need to buy clothes.
August 2005 may go down as the most stressful of my life: move, start law school, flee catastrophic hurricane that destroys the town I loved.
Staying with my parents seems like the most sensible option, though it may severely test my sanity. It's not just the way your mom and dad can drive you nuts in ways that no one else could if they tried. It's also the horribleness of this place, St. Charles County, MO, quintessential ugly suburban sprawl. It's the total spiritual opposite of New Orleans.
It's depressing. I cry a little bit everyday for New Orleans and for the life I had there. The prudent thing would be to just start school over next year, but I don't think I could take a year here. I'm not sure where else I could stay for that long. The only other long-term option that I can see is to stay with my sister and other relatives in York, Pennsylvania, which in a lot of ways is a more attractive alternative. It just seems like it would be harder to find something to do there, but maybe I'm mistaken.
However, on the internet I've found a small environmental law firm in St. Louis that does the kind of work I might want to do when I get out. I'm going to try to get an internship there or somewhere similar. If not, or additionally, I'll see about volunteering with the Red Cross or some other agency that's involved with rescuing and salvaging New Orleans. I'm going to call the Princeton Review office here in St. Louis and see if I can teach some LSAT classes.
If I've got something to do, this should be more bearable. If I can't get anything to go here, I'll think about migrating to PA.
I'm not in any immediate need for money, although I will be. I have the financial aid money that was supposed to last me till the end of the year. Eventually I should be able to get some compensation from FEMA for the contents of my house, I think. But if I'm not back in school in January, I'll need to be in a full-time paying job.
I'm going to need to buy a car soon. (I still haven't been able to contact my landlady and for now I'm still driving her car.) And since all I brought was jeans and t-shirts, I need to buy clothes.
August 2005 may go down as the most stressful of my life: move, start law school, flee catastrophic hurricane that destroys the town I loved.
Elegy
Last Friday I got out of my torts class with the adorable professor at ten minutes till noon. I put my books in my locker, got on my bike, and rode to the Taqueria Corona where I ate fish tacos. Then I went shopping on Magazine Street: new sneakers at Shoefty, new bras at the lingerie store by the CCs at the corner of Jefferson. I rode up to the Creole Creamery and had a hot fudge sundae, and on the way out I ran into Miss P, who had been having lunch with her ex-boyfriend (hmm) at the sushi restaurant next door. Further down Prytania, I stopped at the ophthalmologist and picked up my new contacts (thank goodness I was able to do that.) Back down on Magazine Street, I bought a pair of jeans and a velvet jacket at Buffalo Clothing Exchange. It was hot, and I went across the street to the Big Rue to have iced tea. I called Miss S. She was working on the paper mache skulls she used to sell at the artist's market, but she was ready for a break and came down to meet me.
She told me she'd gotten a new window unit AC and was proud of herself for lifting and installing it herself. It made a big difference because her kitchen got so hot with the skulls in the oven (!)
Also while I was there, I chatted with a girl who had been my tutoring student and was now my classmate in law school. I was impressed that she was studying on Friday afternoon, and I worried that I was negligent in taking the afternoon off.
I'd wanted to take Miss S out for her birthday earlier in the month, but I'd been broke. Now that I had money, I asked her if she wanted to go to Ralph's on the Park that night.
Ralph's was one of the Brennan's Restaurants. It was in a beautiful old house that looked out on City Park, with its huge oak trees with thick, long branches that hit the ground and rose again.
We didn't have reservations, but the maitre d' said the wait wouldn't be too long. We had cocktails in the bar. A television was on--Katrina was a category 1 storm that was probably going to hit Florida, but the weatherman was concerned by changes that might lead it our way. There was a loud party of white uptown women, drunk and loud in that special way of southern aristocrats that confusingly shifts from charming to obnoxious and back.
Then we were seated and we drank pinot and ate: salads, one with a sort of ratatouille, the other with baked goat cheese; crabcakes; grilled shrimp; fried green tomatoes with a creamy, tart, slightly spicy sauce; oysters baked in the shell with a different cream sauce; and a rich, gooey hot fudge cake and coffee for dessert. It was all perfect. I was a little tipsy and happy and some of the food--that baked cheese and those oysters--were astonishingly, almost orgasmically good, you had to close your eyes and just focus on what was going on in your tastebuds, you wouldn't want to miss any of it.
We talked about our lives and where they were going. We thought eventually they were going to go out of New Orleans, and we regretted that. We talked about New Orleans and all its problems, including the fact that eventually it was all going to go underwater in the big hurricane.
It was a lovely night, warm but not too hot. We went back to my house and Miss S gave me a bunch of little house-warming presents, including a couple of her small skulls painted in psychedelic colors.
We decided to go see Egg Yolk Jubilee, one of those only-in-New-Orleans rock/brass bands, at the Circle Bar. We crowded up next to the band in the living-room-like stage/dance floor and danced.
It was such a perfect night, such a quintessentially New Orleans night. We didn't know it was going to be the last one. I was tired and I'd considered staying home and going to bed early. I'm so glad I didn't do that.
Now City Park and Ralph's are at the bottom of the lake. I hope New Orleans comes back, but I don't think it will ever be the same.
She told me she'd gotten a new window unit AC and was proud of herself for lifting and installing it herself. It made a big difference because her kitchen got so hot with the skulls in the oven (!)
Also while I was there, I chatted with a girl who had been my tutoring student and was now my classmate in law school. I was impressed that she was studying on Friday afternoon, and I worried that I was negligent in taking the afternoon off.
I'd wanted to take Miss S out for her birthday earlier in the month, but I'd been broke. Now that I had money, I asked her if she wanted to go to Ralph's on the Park that night.
Ralph's was one of the Brennan's Restaurants. It was in a beautiful old house that looked out on City Park, with its huge oak trees with thick, long branches that hit the ground and rose again.
We didn't have reservations, but the maitre d' said the wait wouldn't be too long. We had cocktails in the bar. A television was on--Katrina was a category 1 storm that was probably going to hit Florida, but the weatherman was concerned by changes that might lead it our way. There was a loud party of white uptown women, drunk and loud in that special way of southern aristocrats that confusingly shifts from charming to obnoxious and back.
Then we were seated and we drank pinot and ate: salads, one with a sort of ratatouille, the other with baked goat cheese; crabcakes; grilled shrimp; fried green tomatoes with a creamy, tart, slightly spicy sauce; oysters baked in the shell with a different cream sauce; and a rich, gooey hot fudge cake and coffee for dessert. It was all perfect. I was a little tipsy and happy and some of the food--that baked cheese and those oysters--were astonishingly, almost orgasmically good, you had to close your eyes and just focus on what was going on in your tastebuds, you wouldn't want to miss any of it.
We talked about our lives and where they were going. We thought eventually they were going to go out of New Orleans, and we regretted that. We talked about New Orleans and all its problems, including the fact that eventually it was all going to go underwater in the big hurricane.
It was a lovely night, warm but not too hot. We went back to my house and Miss S gave me a bunch of little house-warming presents, including a couple of her small skulls painted in psychedelic colors.
We decided to go see Egg Yolk Jubilee, one of those only-in-New-Orleans rock/brass bands, at the Circle Bar. We crowded up next to the band in the living-room-like stage/dance floor and danced.
It was such a perfect night, such a quintessentially New Orleans night. We didn't know it was going to be the last one. I was tired and I'd considered staying home and going to bed early. I'm so glad I didn't do that.
Now City Park and Ralph's are at the bottom of the lake. I hope New Orleans comes back, but I don't think it will ever be the same.
Friday, September 02, 2005
A lecture
I've overheard conversations about how all the looters in New Orleans are black and read posts on the internet about how the people who are still stuck there are animals who don't deserve help.
It's hard enough to watch television right now. But this ignorance and lack of compassion is repulsive.
Some points I'd like to make:
-The population of New Orleans is around 70 percent black. Most of the people doing anything in New Orleans are black, whether we're talking looting or going to Sunday school.
-The people who are left behind are mostly poor people who had no way out. There are also a sizable minority of misguided individuals like my landlady and Jonathan and Miss S' neighbors, and some hapless tourists.
-These people have had no electricity, air-conditioning, running water or phone service for four days. And now they're running out of food. High temperatures have been in the mid-90s before heat index.
-No one would deny that New Orleans has a pitch-black dark side: it's a very, very poor city. It's a city with astonishingly bad public education, an unbelievable illiteracy rate and lots of very ignorant citizens. It's a city with an endemic crime problem which has recently recaptured the title of Murder Capital USA. It's a chaotic, disorganized city.
-There is certainly a lot of overlap between the poor, ignorant and criminal categories, but the three are far from being synonomous. Sadly, it's not really a surprise that the thuggish element is running wild when all restraining factors have disappeared.
-But most of the people left there are just regular, but now desperate, people. Read above about lack of power, phone, water, food, etc. Plus they have to defend themselves against the thugs--who, by the way, are in as hopeless a situation as everyone else.
What the fuck would you do in that situation? Are you sure you would behave better under that kind of pressure?
Listen fatass suburban closet racists, I have news for you. Even in America, not everyone has a car. Even among people who have a car, not everyone has 20 or 30 dollars to put in the gas tank, or a credit card to fill it up with or to buy a bus ticket or whatever. That's true even of law-abiding, job-having citizens. I'm a nice middle class white girl, and I still had to scramble to find a way out.
Also, sadly, many people didn't really realize that this kind of devastation was a real possibility for the city. I knew, as did most of my friends, but we are the kind of people who read newspapers and magazines and listen to NPR and maybe even talk to scientists and engineers. That sounds snotty, but it's not a crime to not read newspapers and a frightening number of New Orleans' residents couldn't if they wanted to. Or there are people like my neighbor who had heard all about it but doubted the danger was real, who thought it was all scare tactics by the media. So maybe there were foolish, but we've all been foolish and made mistakes.
Being poor or ill-informed does not make you less than human. I hate to see the kind of scared desperate bad behavior we've seen on television, but if that cancels out your compassion I have a question about exactly who is less than human.
It's hard enough to watch television right now. But this ignorance and lack of compassion is repulsive.
Some points I'd like to make:
-The population of New Orleans is around 70 percent black. Most of the people doing anything in New Orleans are black, whether we're talking looting or going to Sunday school.
-The people who are left behind are mostly poor people who had no way out. There are also a sizable minority of misguided individuals like my landlady and Jonathan and Miss S' neighbors, and some hapless tourists.
-These people have had no electricity, air-conditioning, running water or phone service for four days. And now they're running out of food. High temperatures have been in the mid-90s before heat index.
-No one would deny that New Orleans has a pitch-black dark side: it's a very, very poor city. It's a city with astonishingly bad public education, an unbelievable illiteracy rate and lots of very ignorant citizens. It's a city with an endemic crime problem which has recently recaptured the title of Murder Capital USA. It's a chaotic, disorganized city.
-There is certainly a lot of overlap between the poor, ignorant and criminal categories, but the three are far from being synonomous. Sadly, it's not really a surprise that the thuggish element is running wild when all restraining factors have disappeared.
-But most of the people left there are just regular, but now desperate, people. Read above about lack of power, phone, water, food, etc. Plus they have to defend themselves against the thugs--who, by the way, are in as hopeless a situation as everyone else.
What the fuck would you do in that situation? Are you sure you would behave better under that kind of pressure?
Listen fatass suburban closet racists, I have news for you. Even in America, not everyone has a car. Even among people who have a car, not everyone has 20 or 30 dollars to put in the gas tank, or a credit card to fill it up with or to buy a bus ticket or whatever. That's true even of law-abiding, job-having citizens. I'm a nice middle class white girl, and I still had to scramble to find a way out.
Also, sadly, many people didn't really realize that this kind of devastation was a real possibility for the city. I knew, as did most of my friends, but we are the kind of people who read newspapers and magazines and listen to NPR and maybe even talk to scientists and engineers. That sounds snotty, but it's not a crime to not read newspapers and a frightening number of New Orleans' residents couldn't if they wanted to. Or there are people like my neighbor who had heard all about it but doubted the danger was real, who thought it was all scare tactics by the media. So maybe there were foolish, but we've all been foolish and made mistakes.
Being poor or ill-informed does not make you less than human. I hate to see the kind of scared desperate bad behavior we've seen on television, but if that cancels out your compassion I have a question about exactly who is less than human.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Another possibility
The Princeton Review is trying to work out a deal with Vanderbilt University to enroll TPR's New Orleans teachers who were attending Tulane and Loyola. I don't know if it would apply to the law school, but I could deal with that. I still know a couple of people in Nashville. Of course, one of them is my ex-husband.
regrets
Living in New Orleans, I always knew this could happen. I thought that when the big one came I would do what I had to do to get out in one piece, and cut my losses concerning my material possessions. And that's what I did. I wasn't thinking clearly when I was packing, but I knew that there wasn't anything that would be totally devastated to lose. Still, the thought of having to replace almost everthing is overwhelming.
The things I regret leaving behind:
-Miss P. Maybe it's silly to mourn a cat when there's so much human misery down there, but she was a personable and unusually gregarious cat, small and very pretty. Hank misses her. He's being uncharacteristically calm. I think he's depressed.
-Certain contents of my footlocker: letters from my grandmother and others, my old stories and notebooks, photographs.
-My CDs and records. I have 24 CDs with me in a carrying case--the jewel cases are back at the house with all the other several hundred CDs in my collection. I had even more books, but they seem more expendable or replaceable.
-My 40's vintage black suede open-toed high-heeled shoes. I have big feet and vintage shoes never fit me. But way back in Nashville I found this pair, they were so cute, they fit perfectly, they were actually comfortable and I've kept them all this time.
The things I regret leaving behind:
-Miss P. Maybe it's silly to mourn a cat when there's so much human misery down there, but she was a personable and unusually gregarious cat, small and very pretty. Hank misses her. He's being uncharacteristically calm. I think he's depressed.
-Certain contents of my footlocker: letters from my grandmother and others, my old stories and notebooks, photographs.
-My CDs and records. I have 24 CDs with me in a carrying case--the jewel cases are back at the house with all the other several hundred CDs in my collection. I had even more books, but they seem more expendable or replaceable.
-My 40's vintage black suede open-toed high-heeled shoes. I have big feet and vintage shoes never fit me. But way back in Nashville I found this pair, they were so cute, they fit perfectly, they were actually comfortable and I've kept them all this time.
update
-Miss S made it to South Carolina. She's learned that her street is not flooded, but she's decided she's moving back to New Jersey.
-AD & company are fine in Lafayette, althought they sound like they're driving each other nuts. They mostly all live in the Bywater, which is in pretty bad shape according to the NYT.
-I can't get in touch with my landlady. She was staying in the same building in Mid City as AD's friend Jonathan, who also hasn't been heard from. Mid City and Esplanade Ridge are totally underwater.
-I had some hope for my house till I saw pictures of flooding on Napolean Avenue.
-Tulane's website is back, sorta. I called the law school at Washington University today to ask if they'd heard anything. They said that Tulane and Loyola were both still hoping to salvage the semester, but if not they would try to spread the students around to other law schools. So maybe I could stay here and go to Washington or to Saint Louis University, or go stay with JT and attend the University of Georgia.
I decided that I will finish school at Tulane as long as there is a Tulane, but I'm not going to put down new roots in New Orleans. I'm glad my house purchase fell through. The rest of my life is going to play out elsewhere, even though I will always miss what it was.
-AD & company are fine in Lafayette, althought they sound like they're driving each other nuts. They mostly all live in the Bywater, which is in pretty bad shape according to the NYT.
-I can't get in touch with my landlady. She was staying in the same building in Mid City as AD's friend Jonathan, who also hasn't been heard from. Mid City and Esplanade Ridge are totally underwater.
-I had some hope for my house till I saw pictures of flooding on Napolean Avenue.
-Tulane's website is back, sorta. I called the law school at Washington University today to ask if they'd heard anything. They said that Tulane and Loyola were both still hoping to salvage the semester, but if not they would try to spread the students around to other law schools. So maybe I could stay here and go to Washington or to Saint Louis University, or go stay with JT and attend the University of Georgia.
I decided that I will finish school at Tulane as long as there is a Tulane, but I'm not going to put down new roots in New Orleans. I'm glad my house purchase fell through. The rest of my life is going to play out elsewhere, even though I will always miss what it was.
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